Chapter Thirteen

‘I don’t know why you won’t tell me who did this to you, Em,’ Ruby said.

‘I can’t. Not yet.’

‘Well, it don’t take a genius to work out that whoever did ’as probably got Fleur, does it? Even me, who can barely string three written words together, can work that out. Gawd, but I’d swing for killin’ whoever’s got ’er if they ’arm ’er.’

‘Me, too,’ Emma said. ‘But that won’t help. I’ll just have to wait until Seth gets back. Or the doctor.’

‘We’ll ’ave to wait!’ Ruby said. ‘You don’t think I’d leave you alone, do you?’

‘I’m not alone. Beattie’s helping Edward with the pastry for an order I’ve got, seeing as I can’t. If I need help and shout Edward will hear me, even if Beattie won’t. There’s a charity fund-raising afternoon tea today. Mr Clarke at the Esplanade Hotel is raising funds for survivors of the Titanic.’

‘Well, let’s ’ope that woman don’t get none of it. If ’er survived, which I ’ope ’er ’asn’t.’ Ruby crossed herself. ‘And God prevent me from being struck down fer sayin’ it, but it’d be as well if ’er and Miles Jago is bein’ nibbled to bits by the fishes at this moment.’

Emma couldn’t help but agree, yet she wasn’t going to waste her breath saying so. But there were plenty who would need financial help, so Emma had agreed readily enough to be part of it.

‘I should have gone into the bakery with them.’

‘No you bleddy shouldn’t! And forgive my French. Only that’s a daft thin’ to say an’ all, you being half-French and knowin’ “bleddy” ain’t in the French dictionary.’

‘I should. It’s my business. Customers don’t want to know about personal problems.’

‘Personal problems? This is a town problem if we’ve got a killer on our ’ands!’

‘Don’t say that! Fleur’s going to be found alive. Isn’t she?’ Emma looked deeply into Ruby’s eyes, but saw only a reflection of her own fear and doubt in them.

‘You know I can’t answer that with the words you want, Emma. And I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know that I can’t.’

‘No!’ Seth said, gripping the doctor by the elbow. ‘We’ll knock on the front door first. I told Maunder the place would need a good clean and some paint when I sold him the cottage, but there might be a new tenant already. I don’t know Maunder’s business arrangements, but we can’t just barge in.’

‘Then you’re a fool. Too soft by half, Seth Jago. You can’t be eating humble pie forever over your father and your brothers. Around the back first. Your daughter’s more important than you forever appeasing a conscience that’s already clear in my book.’

The doctor shrugged Seth off and, for a man of his years, was more than nimble running along the pavement and into the back alley that led to the rear of the house the Phipps family had been evicted from.

On legs that were less than steady, Seth followed him. If Fleur was dead, which he prayed she wasn’t – even though praying was something he rarely did, and then always for his own ends, like many people in all probability – then the doctor would be the best person to see her first. He was used to death.

Seth gritted his teeth, angry at himself for thinking so negatively.

The garden gate swung back on its hinges after the doctor had rushed through it, smacking Seth in the shins. He swore, something else he rarely did, but these were hardly normal times.

The compost of all places. Margaret Phipps had confessed to Dr Shaw about putting Fleur in a cardboard box on the compost heap in the corner of the garden of her old home. She said she’d given Fleur a drink of water from a watering can she’d found, and then left her. Seth had shuddered at the thought of how many germs might have been in that water. Margaret Phipps had also confessed to beating Emma. She said that she’d taken Fleur because she didn’t think it fair that Emma had a lovely house and a husband and a baby when she didn’t have any of those things. At first she’d told her mother that she was looking after the baby for a friend. And her mother had given Fleur a glass of milk and some toast to chew on. And then – when it had got to past midnight – she’d said, how in God’s name did Margaret think they were going to be able to find place for another child to sleep, never mind the money to feed it. And she’d ordered Margaret to take the baby back regardless of the hour.

Margaret Phipps had told the doctor that she’d walked around and around the town in the darkness, not wanting to let another baby leave her life. She said she thought she heard the church clock strike three before she’d eventually found an empty cardboard box at the back of the Co-op to put Fleur in, and a place to put the box down. She’d said she reckoned that compost was always warm, so the baby would be all right. It had been Margaret’s intention to return for the baby when she could.

So, by the doctor’s reckoning, Fleur wouldn’t have been in the box on the compost for long. Not long enough for her body temperature to drop too low and for her organs to begin to shut down.

But it could all be lies – Seth knew that. And the doctor said he knew that, too. But the way Margaret had spoken – and the doctor had studied her carefully as she spoke – he didn’t think she was making up a story on the spot. She wasn’t clever enough for a start.

Rubbing his shin, Seth hobbled after the doctor.

But even from where he was, Seth could see there was no such thing as a cardboard box from the Co-op, or anywhere else for that matter, on the compost.

‘We’ll search the garden,’ Seth said, taking command. ‘Fleur could have crawled off.’

‘But the box?’ the doctor said.

Before Seth could answer, the back door of the cottage opened and a young girl of about thirteen or so stood in the doorway.

‘’Ere,’ the girl said. ‘What are you doin’ in our garden? Pa!’ she yelled, closing the door to, but not shutting it, still peering out at Seth and the doctor.

A man came running then.

‘What’s your game?’ the man said. ‘A bit of fossickin’ on my patch?’

‘I’m Dr Shaw,’ the doctor said, walking towards the man, hand outstretched. ‘and this is my friend, Seth Jago.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ The man put his hands in his pockets, squared up to them both.

‘We’re looking for a baby. We have reason to believe it was put over there.’

The doctor waved an arm in the direction of the compost heap.

‘’Ang on a minute. Let me check the calendar. It id’n April the first by any chance, is it?’

‘This isn’t a joke,’ Seth snapped. ‘We’re looking for my daughter. She’s just over a year old. A baby still. She’s only just learning to walk.’

Seth must have sounded convincing because the man’s expression changed. He looked concerned now.

‘Got an ’andful of my own, ’aven’t I? Babies. More ’an one of ’em has gone walkabouts as toddlers. But a baby, you say? Well, we ’eard what we thought was foxes in the night, and they cry like babies when they’re at it, don’t they?’

Foxes? Had a fox got Fleur? Seth didn’t think so because would a fox carry off a large cardboard box as well?

‘What time?’ Dr Shaw asked.

‘Can’t say for sure,’ the man said. ‘I was up gettin’ the wife a cup of tea. ’Er’s all at sixes and sevens moving ’ouse, wantin’ it all to rights yesterday. ’Er said—’

‘Time?’ Seth interrupted.

The man shrugged. ‘Up with the sun, down with the moon mostly, I am. No need of clocks. I ain’t ’ad no time to set foot in that garden yet neither, somethin’ else the wife’ll be on at me for soon, no doubt. If you sees a baby under any gooseberry bushes, be sure to keep it.’ The man laughed raucously at his own – and in Seth’s opinion, very bad taste – joke. Clearly, he didn’t believe a word of what they’d said.

‘We’re wasting our time here,’ Seth said.

‘Yes, but we’ll take a good look around before we go,’ said Dr Shaw.

‘Go where?’ Seth said. He was aching to get back to see Emma, make sure she hadn’t had a setback of some sort, yet he knew he wouldn’t be able to give her his full attention until he’d found Fleur.

‘To the police station,’ the doctor said, already striding off across the garden towards the compost heap. ‘Margaret Phipps will have to be arrested for her crime, but in my opinion she’s more to be pitied than blamed. An institution for the feeble-minded will be the best place for her.’ He bent down to look at something. He traced a finger around a foot print … and then another one.‘If Margaret Phipps was wearing the shoes that made these prints,’ he said, ‘she’s got very big feet.’

‘Men’s feet?’ Seth said. He put his own booted foot in the indent to check for size – whoever they belonged to had bigger feet than he had. The man in the cottage had said he hadn’t set foot in the garden yet. ‘Right. The police. Let’s go.’

Perhaps Margaret Phipps had been lying after all?

‘Do you think,’ Beattie Drew said, ‘if Ruby and I prop you up you could come and look at these tarts I’ve made an ’ash of makin’?’

It wasn’t Beattie’s fault if the tarts hadn’t come out as they should have done, but if the order didn’t get to the Esplanade Hotel in time – and she’d need Seth back with the car for that – then she could lose future orders with them, and not just this one, charity event, or no charity event.

‘I should think so,’ Emma said. She still had the letter from Matthew that Ruby had given her and she tucked it into the waistband of her skirt as surreptitiously as she could, before wrapping the blanket more tightly around her so Beattie Drew wouldn’t see it.

Ruby winked at her, which made Emma feel more guilty than she knew she needed to because she’d told Matthew she had married Seth and that it would be best if he didn’t contact her again.

She allowed herself to be hauled from the couch, even though she wanted to do it herself, so she could get back to normal as quickly as possible. But everything still ached so – her arms, her shoulders. And her head was the worst.

‘Slowly,’ Ruby said. ‘No point in killin’ yourself for a few bits of pastry, now is it?’

‘No. I know that,’ Emma said. ‘But it’s my livelihood.’

‘It’s not as if you’re desperate for the money though, is it?’ Ruby said. ‘What with all the properties and the fishin’ boats your Seth’s sold. ’E must have made a right big packet outta that.’

‘Not desperate for money, no.’ Emma wobbled, feeling a little faint now she’d stood up.

‘Shut that gob of yours, Ruby Chubb,’ Beattie said. ‘You’re upsettin’ Emma. Besides, what anyone else ’as got or not got isn’t your concern. Gettin’ this girl fit and well is. I understand ’ow ’er business is important to ’er.’

‘Thank you, Beattie,’ Emma said. ‘I’m sure I can rescue whatever disaster’s happened.’

Slowly, the trio made their way to the bakery.

But the second Emma saw tray after tray of tarts with their edges burned and their middles still soggy she knew they were beyond saving. She’d have to send Edward to the dairy for more ingredients. Perhaps Ruby would be able to stay and help. It would put the order a good hour behind for delivery, but it couldn’t be helped. Not now.

‘The chair,’ Emma said, pointing. ‘Can someone get me the chair? I need to sit down.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Jago,’ Edward said, bringing the chair. ‘I was sure I ’ad the ’ang of the oven temperatures, but it seems I didn’t.’

‘Now, don’t you go blamin’ yourself, son,’ Beattie said. ‘I should ’ave known, what with all the experience I’ve ’ad of burning things.’

Ruby laughed.

‘Didn’t you ’ear me tellin’ you earlier to keep tha’ gob of yours shut, miss?’ Beattie said. ‘This isn’ funny.’

‘Sorry,’ Ruby said, struggling to suppress another laugh. She rolled up her sleeves. She tied a tea towel around her waist for an apron. ‘I’ll start on the pastry, shall I? Us suffergets ’ave got to put our money where our mouths are, ’aven’t we?’

‘Suffragettes,’ Emma automatically corrected her. Was that what she was, a suffragette in the making? While she knew things had to change for women, she knew that women still needed to remember that that’s what they were – women, the more compassionate sex. Or so it was said, Margaret Phipps and Caroline Prentiss notwithstanding. ‘But we’re forgetting something. Fleur’s still missing and here we are worrying about fulfilling an order for pastries. All of us.’

‘What shall we do, then?’ Beattie said.

Emma thought Beattie looked as discomfited as she herself felt.

Edward was twisting his hands over and over, the way he did when Emma had to admonish him for something – going outside for a smoke when he was supposed to be working was the usual thing.

Ruby unknotted the tea towel at her waist and folded it up again.

‘Help me back into the house. I’ll ring Mr Clarke at the hotel. Explain. We’ll worry about all this when we know what’s happened to Fleur. If she’s …’

But Emma didn’t get to complete her sentence. Olly Underwood came in carrying a very large box that said ‘Co-op Butter’ in dark blue lettering.

He had a wide grin on his face but said nothing.

Was he a mind-reader? Emma wondered. She’d need butter for the pastry.

With one hand Olly cleared a space on the table, knocking some burnt tarts to the floor. Then he placed the box on the table.

For Emma it was a case of déjà vu. Caroline Prentiss had made just such a gesture when she’d dumped Fleur on that very same table. That time, Emma had been horrified. But now, as she heard whimpering and saw a small, dark head of hair appear over the top of the box, she felt nothing but joy, pure joy.

Where Olly had found Fleur, Emma had no idea. She was only glad he had.

‘Seth. Can someone go and find Seth?’ Emma said, her words coming out in a breathy, anxious rush. ‘And tell him Fleur’s come home.’

‘I’ll find ’im,’ Edward said, running for the door.

‘Oh, Emma,’ Ruby said, tears in her eyes. ‘I never thought this would ’appen. Fleur back and not ’armed. Sorry I upset you just now. I always did ’ave more mouth than brains.’

‘You didn’t upset me. Honestly.’

‘So, you’re goin’ to be all right now? If I go back and face the music, I mean.’

‘Of course I am. Olly’s here. And Mrs Drew.’

Beattie Drew had taken Fleur from her makeshift bed and was cooing and aahing and kissing Fleur as if her life depended on it. Olly was picking up all the spoiled tarts he’d knocked on the floor in his haste to let them all see that Fleur was alive and well.

‘But let me know if you have a problem, Ruby. With Mr Smythe, I mean. I’m sure I can—’

‘Wind ’im around your little finger!’ Ruby laughed. ‘’E’s never given up ’ope, you know.’

‘Of?’ Emma said.

‘That you’ll marry ’im, of course! Why else d’you think this engagement with Miss ‘Orseface Gillet ’as gone on so long?’

‘I’m married, Ruby,’ Emma said, the lie coming so easily to her lips. She even believed it herself. ‘In case you’ve forgotten.’

‘Yes. But a little thing like marriage doesn’t get in the way of things for men like Mr Smythe.’

Or Matthew Caunter, Emma thought.

‘Ruby,’ Olly said. ‘I can put in a word for you with Mr Smythe if you need me to. I’ve got to go Nase Head House way. I’ll escort you.’

‘Escort me? Well, there’s a thing!’ Ruby giggled. She gave Emma a none-too-gentle hug, then went over to kiss Fleur. ‘Ready to be escorted off the premises, Mr Underwood!’

‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ Olly said. ‘To explain about Fleur.’ And then he took Ruby by the elbow and led her to the door.

‘Little madam,’ Beattie said, when Ruby and Olly had left.

‘No, she’s not. It’s the shock of what might have been has made her carry on so. And I expect she is anxious about seeing Mr Smythe again.’

And after hearing what Ruby had said about him, Emma wasn’t too keen to see him again either.

Emma, with Seth at her side holding a sleeping Fleur in his arms, was sitting on the couch while Olly – back now from his hurriedly thought up excuse to get Ruby out of the way – sat in the big chair opposite, telling his story.

‘Unbelievable, isn’t it? The coincidence of it, I mean,’ Olly said.

And to Emma it was unbelievable, almost. That Fleur was back proved that it wasn’t quite.

Olly said he’d made his last search of the graveyard. He’d been on his way down the hill and was making his way back to Mulberry House, when he’d met Tom Hadley, the Co-op milkman, with his horse and cart. Tom had said, ‘The world’s gone mad, Mr Underwood. Usually it’s only me up at this ’our. You’m the second person I’ve seen out and about this early.’

Olly had asked who was the first and Tom had said, ‘That odd Phipps girl, Margaret. ’Bout ’alf past three, or thereabouts, when I was on me way to the dairy to load up the deliveries. ’Er was carryin’ a gurt big cardboard box which was ’eavy by the way she was strugglin’ with it, and she was talkin’ to it all the while, like a mad woman. She went down the alley behind where she used to live.’

‘I put two and two together,’ Olly said, ’and made a dozen of it. I’d heard the rumour that Margaret had had a baby that died, so I knew it wouldn’t have been that one she was talking to in the box, if it was a baby in there. I didn’t wait to try and find you first, Seth. Or go to the police. I couldn’t quite believe it when I saw the box and heard Fleur crying. I just grabbed it and brought Fleur home.’

‘What do you think will happen to Margaret Phipps?’ Emma asked.

‘Hanging, drawing and quartering would be too kind,’ Olly said.

‘No!’ Emma said. ‘They won’t, will they? Hang her, I mean.’

Seth had one hanging hovering over his life, and she knew he wouldn’t want to have Margaret Phipps’ hanging connected to his name, too.

‘Dr Shaw thinks she should be sectioned. That will be the best that can happen to her. He’s going to make a case for it with the police, so he says.’ Seth touched Emma lightly on the knee. ‘Although I make no apologies for saying I agree entirely with Olly, sweetheart.’

‘How can you?’

‘No more!’ Seth said. ‘This isn’t going to solve anything. And it’s certainly not going to aid your recovery thinking about Margaret Phipps’s welfare. She showed scant regard for yours, whatever her state of mind.’

‘All the same,’ Emma said. There was lots she wanted to say, but was suddenly overcome with a tiredness that threatened to swamp her. And now, with Olly still in the room, probably wasn’t the best time anyway.

As if sensing the tension between Emma and Seth, Olly said, ‘I’m away. I’ve a job to go to.’ He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘And so do you, Seth Jago, but in the circumstances I’ll let you have the day off.’

‘Just today,’ Seth said. ‘I’ll be there early in the morning. I can’t thank you enough, Olly.’ Seth got to his feet. He laid Fleur down on the couch, propped up on a cushion. ‘I’ll see you out.’

‘No need. If I don’t know the way in and out of your front door by now, I never will.’

And then Olly was gone.

‘I’ll carry her up and put her in her cot,’ Seth said, bending over Fleur.

‘No. Don’t. Leave her for a minute. She’s been through such a lot in such a short space of time, if she wakes and finds herself alone she might be frightened.’

Seth bent to kiss his daughter on the top of her head. And then Emma, very gently, on her forehead.

‘Although, I suppose, we could go upstairs, too,’ Emma said. She leaned across to kiss Seth on the cheek, letting her lips linger. ‘And if she wakes we’ll be nearby. In the next room. In bed.’

‘Brazen hussy,’ Seth quipped.

‘You’ll have to be gentle with me, though,’ Emma said.

‘When am I ever not?’ Seth laughed. He picked up his daughter and helped Emma to her feet.

How she was going to summon up the energy to make love, Emma couldn’t think. But she’d try. Dr Shaw had explained to her when it was the best time to conceive. And that time – injuries or no injuries, a business that was still viable or not – was now.

But by the time Seth had helped Emma into bed and been to the bathroom himself, Emma was fast asleep.

‘My necklace,’ Emma said the next morning, as a bright band of sunshine dazzled her where it shot through the gap in the curtains. It had no right being so bright, so full of promise, especially so unseasonally, when every part of her ached with a heavy dull pain she knew no Andrew’s potions was going to relieve. Damn it. When she raised her head from the pillow it throbbed as though the farrier had hammered a horseshoe between her ears.

‘Your amethyst?’

‘I only have the one necklace.’

‘Not for want of me wanting to buy you others,’ Seth said gently.

‘I know. And I’m grateful. But I don’t need other necklaces. So, have you seen it? Mama’s necklace?’

‘You weren’t wearing it when I bathed you.’

‘Perhaps the doctor took it off to examine me,’ Emma said. She struggled to a sitting position but the throbbing just got worse, so she lowered herself gingerly back onto the pillow again.

‘I imagine he might have done. I’ll go and ask Mrs Drew if she’s seen it before I go. She might have found it and put it somewhere safe.’

‘Is Beattie here?’ Emma said.

Was Beattie here already? And go? Where was Seth going? Had he told her he was going out and she’d forgotten? Oh dear, her head was all over the place this morning, wasn’t it?

‘I should hope so. It’s almost lunchtime. Fleur’s been bathed and dressed and is probably being fed her lunch.’

Lunchtime? How could that be? Emma stared at Seth in surprise. He was fully dressed, and he had some mail in his hand. The postman didn’t arrive until ten, so it had to be after then if Seth had picked up the mail from the mat in the hall.

‘Lunchtime?’

‘Your hearing’s not been damaged, I see,’ Seth said, smiling. ‘I thought it best to let you sleep. And I’ve telephoned your clients to tell them what’s happened to you because they’ll find out one way or another and I thought it best they heard the truth from me and not via some dubious rumour or other.’

‘You’ve never told them it was Margaret Phipps who did it?’

‘Of course not. Although I imagine they’ll all find that out soon enough. Most were understanding when I told them you won’t be able to fulfil your orders for a while.’

‘You had no right to do that,’ Emma said. ‘I’ll be back to normal soon enough. I have to be.’

And then she realised that to find the telephone numbers of her clients, Seth would have had to go to her drawer in the bureau – the one where she had Matthew’s letter, and his birthday card to her, stashed underneath a pile of invoices.

Had Seth seen them? Opened them? Read them? Although she’d done nothing to instigate the arrival of those letters, she still felt guilty that she had them. That she’d read them. Kept them.

Emma felt sick that Seth – her dear, kind Seth – might have seen them. She put a hand to her breastbone where usually her mama’s amethyst necklace lay, only it wasn’t there. She felt naked, bereft, without it. Unprotected.

And even sicker to think he might be holding a letter to her from Matthew in his hand.

Emma made to get up from the bed but became woozy in seconds.

She flopped back onto the pillow.

‘Who are the letters from?’ she asked, her heart hammering in her chest.

‘A few bills, which I haven’t opened yet. One in my aunt’s hand-writing which I have – Uncle Silas is getting more frail physically even though his mind is as sharp as ever.’

‘Oh good,’ Emma said. ‘That his mind is sharp, I mean, not that he’s more frail.’

‘I know which you meant,’ Seth smiled at her. ‘I just popped up to see you were all right before I go and deal with these.’

He waved the letters at her.

‘Well, I’m fine now after my long sleep. I’ll get up now, before you go, so you can see how fine I am.’

Emma made to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, but the effort was too much and she felt giddy again.

‘You patently aren’t,’ Seth said. ‘And you’ve gone as white as a sheet.’

‘Have I?’ Emma said weakly. She put a hand to her neck where the chain of her amethyst should have been, but wasn’t. ‘I want my necklace, that’s all.’

Matthew had risked his skin – and possibly also his job – to get it back for her, she knew that. The day he’d returned it to her, in a box he’d hand-carved, had been one of the happiest days of her life.

‘Then I’ll go and ask Beattie right away if she’s seen it. And if she hasn’t I’ll call in on Dr Shaw on my way to Olly’s.’

‘And if neither of them has seen it, what then?’

‘No more questions, sweetheart. I’m going downstairs now.’

Seth placed the most tender of kisses on Emma’s lips, and then he was gone.